Mount Fraught Syndrome
by Phoebonica
Summary: AU. Mount Fraught Syndrome: where prisoners grow to despise their captors, and spend every moment trying to escape. Violet marries Olaf. But it's not what you think.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer and Notes:** I don't own ASoUE. Got that? Good.

This is yet another "what if Violet had actually married Olaf?" AU, but with a difference. It's not going to be Violaf. Not even a little bit. Hence the title. I always wondered what would happen in one of these stories if they _didn't_ become involved, and one day someone asked me "Why don't you write it, then?" And here it is.

This isn't meant to be Violaf-bashing, or a parody or anything. It's just another way things could go. If you're a Violaf fan, there'll be plenty of interaction between them, just not _that_ kind of interaction, so... you might like it anyway. If you're not a Violaf fan, you might be relieved.

And I'll stop rambling now.

**Mount Fraught Syndrome **

**Chapter One**

Klaus couldn't see the city any more. He had knelt on the back seat of Count Olaf's long black car, with Sunny cradled in his arms, watching the lights recede into the distance until they were gone. Now there was only the flat, grey plain of the hinterlands and the darkening sky.

He shivered, and sank back on to the seat. Sunny whimpered in her sleep, as if she'd seen the lights vanish too and felt their hope vanish with them. At least she could sleep. She didn't have to endure this journey, waiting for the car to stop and a pair of gleaming hooks to tear into her. Klaus couldn't close his eyes without seeing Violet, running after the car in her wedding dress and being dragged back by a white faced woman, sobbing _Klaus, Sunny, no!_ as the car pulled away and Sunny screamed and kicked and all Klaus did was sit there, frozen with shock and guilt. He hadn't saved her. He'd had a whole library of legal books and couldn't find what he needed. It was no good knowing what Olaf's plan was if he couldn't stop it.

And now Violet was gone.

Sunny wriggled against him and moaned. Her eyes were still red, her face blotchy and damp from crying, and his arm still ached from where she'd bitten him in panic. He could feel her heartbeat, fast and frantic as a bat trapped in a cage.

He swallowed, looking down at her. Leaning forward, he spoke in a half-whisper, partly so he didn't wake her, partly because his mouth was too dry for anything else. "Let Sunny go."

"Don't talk to me while I'm driving," the hook-handed man snapped. It was the first thing he'd said all journey. "It's not easy for me to steer. I need to concentrate."

"There's nothing to hit out here," Klaus pointed out. "Listen, I don't care if you –" he swallowed again "- if you kill me, but don't hurt Sunny. Take her to a hospital, or an orphanage or anywhere. Somewhere she'll be safe. Please. She's just a baby, she won't remember any of this." He wondered if that was true. Would she grow up never knowing he and Violet had existed? It was a terrible thought, but he hoped it was true. _At least that way she'll be happy._

The hook-handed man didn't look round. "Olaf told me to dispose of both of you."

"You mean murder us," Klaus said, coldly.

"Fine." The hook-handed man sighed, as if he thought Klaus was just being difficult. "The point is, it's not my decision. I'm just doing what I was told."

"That doesn't make it all right!" He wouldn't cry. He _wouldn't_. "You're just as bad as him. You're a _monster_."

He couldn't see the man's face very well, but he saw his shoulders tense, the way they would if he'd been able to clench his fists. "That's not a good word to use about someone who's physically disabled, kid."

"I'm not talking about your hooks." Klaus heard his voice rising and couldn't stop it. "I'm talking about you being a heartless, despicable –"

"…Klaus?"

Sunny's eyes were open. Something inside Klaus twisted as he looked down at them. He'd expected to see terror there, he would have been prepared for that, but all he found on Sunny's face was blankness. Exhaustion.

"Letoca?" she murmured.

Klaus shook his head. "I don't know where we are."

"Dark," she observed. Klaus didn't know whether she meant the sky or the situation. She wriggled closer to him, burying her face in his shirt. "Culpa."

"What?" Klaus stared at her. "No, it isn't your fault! Why would you think that?"

"Nomras," she whispered. _She did it to save me._

"Oh, Sunny." He rocked her, gently, one hand stroking her soft hair. "That doesn't make it your fault. You were locked up. There was nothing you could have done."

"More bite," she insisted. He felt her gripping his shirt. Her hands were cold.

"I'm sure you bit as hard as you could," he told her. He didn't add the next part of that thought – _it just wasn't enough. None of it was._

"You got that right," the hook-handed man muttered. Klaus glared at him. Sunny didn't seem to hear.

"Culpa," she repeated, distantly. "Modrep."

"_No_." Klaus found himself shaking again, not in fear this time but rage. He lifted his sister, looking her in the eyes. She gazed through him, expressionless. "We should _not_ have let you fall. Don't ever think that."

She didn't answer. He shook her, as gently as possible in his fury – how dare Olaf do this to his sister? On top of everything else? "Look at me, Sunny. _Look_ at me." She blinked. Her eyes slowly rose to his, and he gripped her tightly, not letting her look away. "You did nothing wrong. _Nothing_. Violet and I love you, and we would never let anyone hurt you if we could help it." He paused, swallowing back tears. "If it's anyone's fault it's mine. I should have found a way out."

Sunny gazed back at him for a few more seconds, then slowly shook her head. "Nada Klaus." _Not you, Klaus._ Her mouth trembled for a moment, then dropped open as she started to sob again. Klaus held her close, rocked her, torn between misery and relief. Crying was better than that defeated emptiness. She was back. But she'd still have to suffer through the end. _Maybe_, some treacherous part of him thought, _giving up is better_.

"Can't you shut her up?" the hook-handed man snarled. The car swerved a little. Klaus ignored him. He didn't trust his voice not to shake now.

"Kaba!" Sunny wailed.

He lowered his head to hers, and kissed her forehead. "I'm scared too," he whispered. "But it's all right. It – it's going to be bad, but I've got you." His voice cracked, losing control without her safety or sanity to fight for. "Your big brother's here, Sunny, and I'm not letting go. Not ever. You remember that."

_For all the good it does_. He could feel his own tears coming now. Fighting them was hopeless, like holding back the sea. Sunny's hands twisted in his shirt. "Sister," she wept. _I won't let go either._

The car swerved again and juddered, as if they'd run over something. Klaus bit his lip. "Maybe we'll see Mom and Dad again," he whispered. "Maybe when it's over… do you remember that song they used to sing?" He closed his eyes, recalling the words. "_I wish, I wish, I wish in vain –_ "

The car stopped.

Klaus shot forward, the song becoming a strangled _urk _as his seatbelt tightened round his chest and pulled him back again. He clapped a hand to his face to hold his glasses still, curling his other arm round Sunny, who bit his shirt sleeve in startled reflex. The hook-handed man leant over the steering wheel, breathing hard. Klaus thought he looked pale, even sick, but in the moonlight it was difficult to tell.

"Wha?" Sunny asked, blinking.

The hook-handed man wiped his forehead with the back of his arm. "Get out of the car," he said, almost in a gasp.

Klaus gulped. "N – now?"

"Jimin?" Sunny asked, which meant something like _What's wrong with your voice?_

The man took a slow, deep breath. "Just get out of the damn car," he said. "_Right now_."

Klaus pulled the door open with a shaking hand and stepped out, still holding on to Sunny. He had to lean against the car, looking up at the stars. The sound of his breath was very loud. He wondered how many breaths he had left now, such a horrible idea that he almost laughed from pure shock at himself. _So this is how dying feels. It feels as if it can't possibly be real._

There was a faraway series of _clunk_s as the hook-handed man got out of the car. He walked round to stand in front of Klaus and Sunny. He raised an arm.

The stars span. Klaus couldn't move.

They stood in tableau, the two frightened orphans facing the murderous henchman.

Then the hook-handed man raised his other arm. Carefully, he pierced the material of his shirtsleeve, near the elbow, and tore a straight line up to what Klaus had to think of as his wrist. He held his exposed forearm out to Sunny, who shrank back as if he'd struck at her.

"Bite me," he said. Sunny didn't move. He scowled, leaning closer to her. "I said, bite me. I know you want to. I deserve a good biting, don't I? Come on, Sunny, scary man with no hands. Scary man who's going to have to hurt your big brother if you don't start to do as you're – aagh!"

He pulled his arm away, cursing under his breath before lifting it up again to inspect the wound. At least one of Sunny's teeth had broken the skin. Klaus saw a trickle of blood run down the man's arm, soaking into his tattered shirt.

"Perfect," the hook-handed man said. He turned to Klaus. "All right, your turn. Give me your glasses."

Klaus finally got his voice back. "What are you _doing_?"

The hook-handed man stared at him, incredulous. "I thought you were the bookworm of the family. Haven't you heard of Snow White?"

For a second Klaus wondered what dwarves had to do with anything. Then he remembered. _The huntsman takes her out to the woods to kill her. But he brings the Queen a deer's heart, instead…_

"You're letting us _go_?"

"Gebo?" Sunny asked, meaning _Why?_

The hook-handed man rolled his eyes. "I don't have time for baby talk, okay? Just give me the glasses."

Klaus handed them over. The man appeared to put them in his pocket, although Klaus' vision was too blurry to let him see how. "The city's that way," the hook-handed man said, gesturing the way they'd come. "I suggest you two head in the other direction. There's –" He paused for a second, then continued, "There's nothing you can do for your sister now. Just think about how lucky you were." He walked back round the car and opened the door. "You probably won't be again."

The door slammed. The car turned round, tyres squealing, and sped away. Klaus felt Sunny turn to watch it go. "Afino?" she asked, which meant _Why would he do that?_

"I don't know." Klaus bit his lip. It was getting cold, and he didn't want to share his next thought with Sunny, but there was no choice. "But I'm – I'm afraid he made a mistake."

"Err?"

_The huntsman thought Snow White would be eaten by wild animals_, Klaus remembered. _He didn't want to kill her himself._

"He took my glasses," he said, slowly. "I don't think he realised how bad my eyesight is, without them. Sunny… I can't see a thing."

Sunny went very still. Klaus had time to wish desperately that he could still see her face, then he felt her thin arms wrap round his own. "Got you," she said, in a firm, much older sounding voice.

"I've got you too." He sighed. _But I don't think we're in the right fairytale._

Sunny shook her head, as if she'd heard his thought. "Hansel," she said, quietly. "Gretel."


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Chapter 2! This took longer to write than I thought it would, mostly because I had to keep stopping to go "eww". You know how I said this wasn't even a little bit Violaf? This is the closest it's going to get, and I don't think threatening should really count. So, yeah. Official warning for threatened sexual assault and some violence. My inspiration for the whole fic was really that I wanted Violet to do what she does here...

**Chapter 2**

_I broke my promise._

Violet sat in the corner of the room, her head hidden in the frills of her dress. None of the troupe members still celebrating at the long wooden table paid her any attention. Even Olaf barely glanced at her. He was busy with telling the other actors long stories about his own brilliance, to much laughter and occasional applause. That and drinking more wine than Violet had ever seen him drink before.

He had Klaus' glasses in his pocket. Every time Violet looked at them she wanted to scream. She pulled her knees up to her chest, bit down on her lip so she couldn't make a sound. If she started to scream, if she started to cry, she'd never be able to stop.

_He's dead and I let him die. I let Sunny die. The hook-handed man took them away and he killed them and I let him. I _let_ him. I didn't do _anything.

He had come back half an hour ago, but he hadn't stayed long. He just walked in, put the glasses down on the table and left. If he'd said anything to Olaf Violet hadn't heard it. She'd been staring at his right arm, at the livid red bite mark on it. Sunny had done that. That was the last thing she'd ever bitten, before…

_She's dead she's a baby and she's dead and Klaus is out there in the dark without his glasses and he'll never need them again and _I let it happen!

The troupe members laughed and started clapping again. Violet suddenly couldn't stand it any more. She stood up. Her body felt like a mechanism she was operating from a distance, as if the real Violet was in another room, watching artificial legs walk to the door and a plastic hand reach down.

Her hand was on the doorknob when she heard Olaf's voice.

"Where are you going?"

Violet turned. Her mechanical mouth opened. "I'm going to my room," she said, in a voice that didn't seem like hers either.

"Of course." Olaf smiled in what he probably thought was a kindly, paternal fashion. "It's been a big day for you. You're probably all worn out."

She could go. All right then. Violet turned back to the door. It seemed more complicated than she remembered, or at least slower. The movement of the handle lasted forever.

She had just got it open when she felt Olaf's hand on the back of her neck.

"But, Violet…" His breath hissed against her ear, the hot, cloying scent of wine almost choking her. "Our room is _that_ way."

The mechanical legs gave way. Violet fell against the doorframe. "…our…" her voice said, a little sound, air escaping from a valve. Bony hands gripped her wrists and turned her around, pushing her spine against the wall. Her eyes stared straight ahead, at the grey-stained fabric of his suit. She couldn't feel anything but his hands. _Oh no. I killed my family, isn't that enough?_

"Violet." Olaf let go of her right arm. It fell unsupported to her side. His long fingers curled round her chin, tilting her head up, making her face him. "You're an intelligent girl," he murmured, and his voice would have almost seemed gentle if not for his eyes, shining and dark at once with something Violet didn't dare name. They froze her in place, held her more firmly than his hand on her wrist ever could. "I'm sure you realise that as my wife, you have certain responsibilities."

_Responsibilities._ He _would_ have used that word, the one that swept away any chance she'd had to think or resist as the sickly knowledge of what she'd done rose up again like bile in her throat. _They're gone, both gone, this can't happen not this too or I'll…_ what? She didn't know. She felt her free hand scrabble blindly at the wall, felt her head shake, slowly, back and forth, denying everything. _No, not this, no._

Olaf frowned. "That won't do any good," he said, adult to petulant child. "You're only making things worse for yourself." His voice still too calm on the surface, but taunting underneath, insinuating, eyes still bright with that nameless thing _oh just think it Violet, lust, desire, you know what he wants, you _know. Behind him the troupe watched, silent now, unmoving as the scene played out. A white-faced woman cast a nervous glance at her sister. Violet tried to catch her eye, couldn't. Of course not. No help for the irresponsible orphan girl, not here. More air escaped from her, not even words this time, just a fragile whimper.

The hand at her face slipped down to her throat, her shoulder, too slow, intimate, caressing, and if she'd had any breath she would have shrieked it all out again. Olaf stepped closer, leaned down. His lips brushed against her cheek as he spoke. "If you cooperate," he whispered, "this will all be so much easier…"

Violet tried to struggle, twist away, but nothing helped. Any movement only seemed to bring him closer, the sour smell of his breath and the heat of him surrounding her, like spiderwebs to a fly or like the fire that killed her parents, and in the back of her mind something let go and started screaming after all. _Let him! Just _let him_! They're dead, they're all dead, everyone's dead except for you and _you_ let it happen, Violet, _you let it happen_! So just give him what he wants!_

Her limbs went slack again. She fell trembling against him and he caught her, arm round her waist to hold her up. "That's right. Sensible girl." He guided her left hand, the one he still held, to his waist. "I knew you'd understand."

Her fingers brushed against cold glass.

_Klaus…_ Her mind was slow, clouded with pain and tiredness, but the new thought worked its way up from the depths. _Klaus… Sunny… they wouldn't want this. Me giving up. Klaus wouldn't give in, and Sunny wouldn't…_

_And Sunny _didn't_. What would she do, Violet? If anyone tried to hurt you? She'd…_

Violet's head twisted, darted forward. Her teeth snapped down. Olaf yelled in pain and tried to push her away, but she held on, gripping tighter until she heard a crunching sound and felt her mouth fill with blood. She let go then, gagging and spitting out red, as Olaf staggered backward with his hands clamped over his nose, blood already dripping down from them to soak his shirt. He crashed into the table and slid to the floor, staring up at her in outraged shock. "Wha' th' hell is _wrong_ with you?" he demanded, voice muffled and wet.

"With _me_?" Violet heard herself give a gasping, incredulous cry, and realised it was laughter. Her body was her own again, but she still couldn't seem to control it. The haze in her mind had lifted, everything was too clear now, too bright, red everywhere, shining against the dull white of her wedding dress. "With _me_!"

"Get her out of here," Olaf snarled, pulling himself upright, spraying blood across the floor. The white-faced woman who had looked nervous earlier now took her arm, leading her away, and Violet followed, body still shaking with hysterical giggles that were almost sobs. The woman took her to her own room and left in a hurry, as if she thought Violet might attack again, locking the door behind her. Violet sank down on the bed she'd once shared with her siblings, hands pressed to her mouth, laughing, crying, shrieking all at once in great racking, whooping breaths.

_I was right,_ she thought, in a moment when she could. _I'll never stop._ But her body was merciful. It wore itself out in the end, and, bloodstained fingers clutching at her hair and sheets, Violet slept.

* * *

In the shadow of a large rock, two children huddled together.

"I can't walk any further, Sunny." Klaus yawned, and tried to push his glasses back up on his nose for the fourth time before realising they weren't there. "I'm sorry."

"Lux," Sunny said, patting his arm, which meant _You'll be able to see more when it gets light, anyway._

"I hope so." Klaus sighed. "But there's not much to see. You're supposed to follow electrical cables or running water, but there's nothing like that out here."

Sunny took a breath, then paused. Klaus thought she was about to say something like "Ramear?", which meant _Then how are we going to survive?_ But the question she eventually asked was much easier to answer.

"Calliope?" she said, and Klaus sat up and listened.

"Yes," he said, slowly, after a while. "Yes, I think I _can_ hear music…"


	3. Chapter 3

**Mount Fraught Syndrome **

**Chapter Three**

"Pamc!" Sunny called out, pointing enthusiastically even though she knew Klaus couldn't see her. The row of tents had been visible in the distance for some time, but it was only now, as the sun rose and Klaus carried her nearer, that she could be sure she wasn't dreaming them. She'd slept a little during the night, but not well, and it had been hard to tell what was a dream and what wasn't. Sometimes she'd thought that Violet was walking next to them, and sometimes she'd heard Mr Poe coughing, and sometimes she'd seen Count Olaf's long fingers reaching out of the dark to grab her and almost bitten her own arm before waking up. Once she'd seen her parents on the horizon, singing to her, but they faded away before she got close enough to hear the words.

At least she'd been able to sleep. Klaus hadn't dared to stop walking. The music had stopped a few minutes after they began following it, and he'd been afraid they'd end up going in the wrong direction if they stopped to rest. Sunny had offered to crawl some of the way, but he wouldn't let her.

He didn't say anything when she spoke, gazing straight ahead as if he'd forgotten she was there. "_Pamc_," Sunny explained again, tugging at his shirt. "Lari," she added, looking up at the rusty metal structure that lay beyond the tents.

"A rollercoaster?" Klaus stopped walking and blinked, peering blearily down at her, or at least in her general direction. "So it is some sort of carnival. I thought so. I still don't know why they were playing a barrel organ in the middle of the night, but…" He gave a huge yawn, and rubbed at his eyes. "Sorry. But it's lucky for us they did."

Sunny nodded, resting her head on Klaus' chest so he could feel. _Lucky_. The hook-handed man had used that word as well. They were lucky not to be dead, he'd meant, and Sunny supposed that was true. And they were lucky to have heard the music, and not to be stranded somewhere with no water or electrical cables. But they were also two children with no parents to take care of them, and a big sister who was trapped with a horrible man who was probably hitting her and locking her up and making her sleep on the floor and even worse.

She held on to Klaus a little tighter, trying not to cry again. It made her too tired. She hadn't cried this much since the days when she was very small and didn't know any words, even the ones she made up.

Klaus patted her hair. "How far is it?" he asked.

"Sertem," she told him. _Not far._

He nodded, looking solemn, and started walking again.

* * *

There was nobody around when they reached the tents, which Klaus thought was strange. "I thought carnival workers usually got up early in the morning," he told Sunny, frowning. "I could be wrong, but it seems odd that there's no one about."

Sunny looked at the collapsing rollercoaster, and the peeling paint of the caravans they passed. "Deca," she said, which meant _It doesn't look as though they have many visitors_. "Guy," she added, and Klaus nodded and stepped over the rope in front of his feet.

"I'll have to take your word for that," he said. "Still, there must be _someone_ here. I doubt they'd just abandon all their –"

"Vox!" Sunny interrupted. "Shh." She looked around the camp, trying to work out where the voices she could hear were coming from. She couldn't make out what they were saying, but they were adults, and they were somewhere near… _there_, the big tent covered in stars. As if to confirm it, one of the walls bulged for a second as someone inside brushed against it. "Estel," she told Klaus, who was listening too, forehead creased in concentration.

"The big dark thing over there?" He pointed at the tent, more or less.

"Yep. Koluto." _Yes. Be careful._ The way to the tent was full of ropes and other obstacles that he had to be guided round, but all the same Sunny could feel Klaus relax a little with each step he took. She knew what he was thinking. There were _people_ in there. People meant water, food, rest, and shelter. People meant _help_.

She smiled as they came round the side of the tent. "Pre-" she began, meaning to say _Almost there_, but the word faded as she saw the design painted onto the canvas. She stared, speechless, feeling the ground sway beneath her. The eye, the same eye that had followed her and her siblings for so many weeks, glaring from Count Olaf's ankle, stared back.

"Sunny? What's wrong?" Klaus lowered his voice, obviously feeling her shock even though he wouldn't know what had caused it. She turned to him, clinging to his arm.

"Maloc," she whispered.

The blood drained from Klaus' face. His arms tightened round Sunny, holding her so close she could hardly breathe, but that didn't seem to matter. "No," he breathed. "No – no, it can't – he can't…"

Sunny shook her head, tears spilling from her eyes. "Can." _He can do everything,_ she meant. _He'll always find us._

Klaus collapsed. That was how it felt. He dropped to the floor, so fast that Sunny was sure he'd fall into the tent and give them away, but he didn't. He just sat in the dust, clutching Sunny and trembling, dark circles round his eyes standing out against his whitened skin. "There's nowhere else…" he whispered. She felt his tears soak into her hair. "No one… I can't walk any more. I _can't_."

Sunny curled against him, shaking. "Holep?" she asked, voice tiny and broken. _What can we do?_

He didn't answer. He held her and rocked her, or maybe he just rocked with her, but he didn't answer because he didn't have to. Sunny understood.

_Nothing. There's nothing we can do._

When she closed her eyes she could still see the eye, staring, sneering. _Nothing. No help, no shelter, so what now? Now what happens?_

"Be asking your question again, please."

Sunny jumped. So did Klaus. His head whipped round, as if he could see where the woman's voice had come from. Sunny tapped his shoulder. "Edis," she whispered, pointing to the tent. _In there._

Klaus put a finger to his lips and leaned toward the canvas, frowning in concentration again, hardly seeming to breathe. Sunny listened, too, not sure what good it would do. They were trapped by the eye. There was no escape.

Then the second voice spoke, and she wasn't so sure. It was a man. His voice was soft, and he spoke slowly, sounding as if he was holding his words back to keep them all from bursting out at once. "I need to know where my brother is," he said. "And…" He paused. Sunny recognised that kind of pause. It was the kind that meant someone was trying not to cry. "And if he's still alive."

Klaus gave a quiet gasp. Sunny bit her lip.

The woman spoke again. "That is really being two questions," she said. "You are remembering, please, that the crystal ball is only answering one question a day."

"Madame Lulu, I don't have _time_." The man's voice shook. "You know I can't stay another night. _Please_. If you know – if you know what kind of state he's in, then you must know where he is."

Madame Lulu didn't answer for a while. "Since it is you asking, my Jacques," she said eventually, "I will be taking this as one question only. You will be quiet, please, while I am looking."

There was silence. Or nearly silence. Now she was listening Sunny could hear a faint whirring noise that reminded her of a refrigerator. "Nineg?" she whispered to Klaus, meaning _Can you hear that?_, but he shushed her again.

"I am seeing your brother," Madame Lulu said. "He is living, yes…"

Jacques sighed in relief. "Oh, thank _heavens_."

"_But_," Madame Lulu continued, sounding slightly annoyed that he'd interrupted, "he is in much pain. Not of his body, please," she added quickly. Sunny thought Jacques might have tried to cut in again. "Of his heart. I think you are guessing already, please, this part of the story."

"Of course," Jacques said. "That's why I came here. I know how distraught he must be, after…" He swallowed. Sunny turned to look at Klaus.

"Fili," she whispered. _He sounds like a kind person._

"We can't be sure," Klaus muttered, but he looked more thoughtful now than scared, and there was colour in his face. "He might be safe, if he's just a visitor here, but I don't know…"

"He is missing very much his Beatrice," Madame Lulu said. Her voice was gentler now. "For nine days he is doing nothing, please, but crying for her. And even after this, he is not eating, not sleeping. He is sick with his loving of her, and in the end, please, he is being found so sick that he must please be taken to the hospital."

"Which hospital?" Jacques' voice trembled once more. Sunny looked up at Klaus.

"Pesco," she whispered. _I'm going to have a look at him._

"Sunny, no!" Klaus hissed. "They could see you."

"Vanesc." _They won't. I'll keep out of sight._ She squeezed his arm. "Empa," she added. _I think we can trust him._

"I'd like to think so." Klaus shook his head. "But there's no way to be sure."

"Baker," Sunny whispered. _Well, we have to do _something She stretched up to kiss her brother on the cheek, then slipped out of his arms. "Vure." _I'll be right back._

"…of course, they are not knowing his real name," Madame Lulu was saying, as Sunny crawled round to the front of the tent and lay down, as flat as she could, to peer under the door flap. "He is using name of Kensicle, the same, please, that he was using before for writing in secret of books." She coughed. "Sorry. I mean, please, writing in books of secrets."

The tent was full of a strange, flickering light. All Sunny could see were two pairs of feet. Jacques was closest to her. He was wearing dark brown shoes, and the sock on his left leg seemed to have slipped down. Madame Lulu's feet were harder to make out, but she was wearing some kind of slippers.

"He gave a false name?" Jacques still sounded worried, but there was pride in his voice. "That's my brother. Half mad with grief, and he still has the presence of mind to cover his…"

The next word never came. Jacques shifted his legs as he spoke, and for a moment, in the strange, dim light, Sunny saw his left ankle. She shrieked before she could stop herself.

The adults both jumped. Jacques twisted in his chair. "Who is it?" he called, standing up. "Who's there?"

Sunny couldn't move.

"I know I am hearing someone, please!" Madame Lulu shouted, standing as well. "If sneaky spying person is out there, I am being very angry!"

Jacques came over to the door. Sunny could hear him trying to find the place where it opened. He'd see her any minute now. She had to move, but shock still froze her. She'd been so sure he was a good person.

But there was no mistaking the eye on his ankle.

"Sunny?" Klaus shouted. "_Sunny!_ Where are you? What's happening?"

"Sunny?" The door opened. Jacques looked down at her, blinking in astonishment. "It can't be… how did you get here?" His expression suddenly changed, from surprise to a delighted grin, and before Sunny could move, he grabbed her around the waist and lifted her into the air. "Lulu, look who just showed up!"


	4. Chapter 4

Mount Fraught Syndrome Chapter Four 

"_Sunny!_" Klaus screamed again, scrambling round the side of the tent. He heard Jacques yell in pain, probably from Sunny's teeth. "_Let her go!_" What was _happening_ to her? The world was a blur and all he could do was run through it, waving his hands in front of him to feel the way.

"Run!" Sunny shouted. "Klaus! _Inclid_!" _He has the tattoo, the same one!_ she meant, and Klaus felt his heart stop beating.

"_No!_" He gave up trying to feel ahead and _ran_, toward her voice, to her side, but a guy rope caught his legs and pulled him down. The dusty ground smashed into him, knocking the air from his body with a feeble gasping sound.

"Klaus?" Jacques' voice. A brown blur appeared in front of him. "What -?"

"Vamo!" _Stay away from him!_ He heard Sunny rush over to him, felt her arms around his waist.

Jacques' shoes scuffled in the dirt as he backed away. "It's all right," he said, more slowly, cautious. "I'm not going to hurt either of you. I want to help."

"Liar," Klaus gasped, fighting for breath.

"He is not lying, please!" Madame Lulu exclaimed, indignant. "We are not hurting lost children! We are not ones biting, please, or making of accusations…"

"Lulu, I think they've a right to be upset," Jacques interrupted.

"Yaha!" Sunny shouted. _Of course we have a right to be upset!_

"It's all right," Jacques repeated. He must have crouched down or something like that, because his voice seemed nearer. "I know you're scared. I know what's been happening to you…"

"Of – course – you know," Klaus croaked, dragging air into his winded body. "You work – for Olaf, don't you? You've got – his eye – his mark…"

He heard sharp intakes of breath from both the adults. Sunny still pressed against his side. _She needs me_, he thought, distantly. _I shouldn't lie here, I should get up._ But there didn't seem much point. He couldn't run, or hide, or remember anything that would help them. This must be it. The end.

"That's what you think?" Jacques sounded startled. It would have been convincing if Klaus hadn't known better. "Is that what he told you? That the eye's his symbol?"

"It's all over his house." Klaus could more or less breathe now, but his lungs still hurt. Everything did. "It's on everything he owns."

"And somehow that doesn't surprise me much," Jacques muttered. He was talking to himself, not Klaus and Sunny, and his tone held what seemed like genuine anger. Klaus felt a faint inkling of doubt. _But Olaf's an actor. Maybe he is, too._ "The eye _is_ a symbol," Jacques continued, addressing them both again, "but it's not what you think. It was…" He sighed. "Once, long ago, it was the symbol of a noble organisation, a group of people devoted to learning. People who wanted to keep peace in the world. To some of us it still is, but to others… do you know what the word 'schism' means?"

"Yes," Klaus said, just as Sunny said "No."

"It means a fight," Klaus explained, "between different members of a group. One that splits the group into two opposing parts."

"That's right," Jacques said. Klaus desperately wished he could see his expression. If he could he might be able to tell whether Jacques was telling the truth. He wanted to think he was, to trust that this man with the gentle voice and comforting explanations was really who he claimed to be. But relying on adults was dangerous. He'd learned that in Mr Poe's office, with that bruise still livid on his face.

"So that's who you are? Part of this 'noble organisation'?" He tried to keep his voice cold, suspicious. "And Olaf's on the opposing side?"

"We are both, please, helpers of VFD," Madame Lulu said. "Not troupe of Count Olaf. We are wanting, please, only to help."

After a slight pause, Jacques said, "Yes. I'm one of the ones who work to – keep the world quiet, as we put it." He hesitated again. "As were your parents."

"_What?_" Klaus yelped.

"_Qua?_" Sunny exclaimed. "Telnis!"

"Sunny says they never told us anything like that," Klaus said. It wasn't so hard to sound cold this time. "And she's right. We never heard any of this before today."

Jacques gave another deep sigh. "I know. Your parents wanted to keep you out of harm's way for as long as possible. They thought you'd be safer if you didn't know too much. For all I know, they may even have been right," he added, again talking more to himself than to the children. Klaus' head was swimming. That made _no_ sense, he'd never been less safe in his life…

"Ediv," Sunny said, quietly,

"What was that?" Jacques asked.

"She said _Prove it_," Klaus translated. "Prove you really knew our parents."

Jacques was silent for a long while. "They sang to you," he said, eventually. "All three of you, when you were infants. A song called 'The Butcher Boy'." Sunny gasped, her arms tightening round Klaus. "The chorus goes '_I wish, I wish, I wish in vain, I wish I was a maid again…_'"

Klaus nodded, hoping his shock didn't show on his face. He remembered that song, yes, he'd sung it to Sunny just last night when he'd thought they were going to be slaughtered. But one song didn't prove anything. "Go on."

"Sunny," Jacques continued, "you once had to go to the emergency room because you chewed some rhubarb leaves while you were helping your father in the garden. And Klaus…" He paused to think again. "When you were seven, your favourite book was _The Phantom Tollbooth_ by Norton Juster. Especially the part about the word market. You have good taste."

Klaus swallowed. "What did Alec Bings' sister do?"

"She saw under things," Jacques said. "But she was all the way up in the air, so whatever she couldn't see under…"

"…she overlooked," Klaus finished with him. His voice was faint, not just tired but stunned. Jacques might have been able to find those details out some other way, as part of some elaborate trap, but he probably wouldn't have gone to the trouble of reading the whole book just to trick him. And even if he would, Klaus knew the tone of voice he'd used. He was talking about a book he'd loved, one that meant something important to him. That couldn't be faked.

It didn't prove he was telling the truth. But Klaus was almost convinced, now, that he was.

"What do you think?" he asked Sunny.

"Aidag," she whispered. _I believe him_.

Klaus swallowed again. "All right," he told Jacques. "We'll trust you." Saying the words seemed to lift something from him, a great weight of suspicion and fear that had been holding him down without his really feeling it. It was replaced by another weight, this one simple tiredness. He let his head sink into the dust. He hadn't realised until then how truly exhausted he was.

"Will you let me help you up?" Jacques asked. Klaus nodded. "Sunny?" She must have said yes too, because Klaus felt warm hands take hold of him, lifting him to his feet. He staggered, and more hands steadied him, presumably Madame Lulu's. "I'm sorry for picking you up without your permission, Sunny," Jacques said. "That was terribly rude, and I hope you'll forgive me. I was just so relieved to see you alive."

"Nema," Sunny said.

"She says it's okay," Klaus murmured, "as long as you forgive her for biting you." Lulu let go of him and he stumbled again before Jacques wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

"Of course. Perfectly sensible of you, under the circumstances."

"We will be taking you to my caravan, please," Madame Lulu said, from somewhere near the floor. Klaus assumed she was bending down to pick up Sunny. "You can be resting, please, on beds there, and there is food and water, or sodas if you prefer."

"Thank you." Klaus slumped against Jacques, wrapping an arm around him as well to hold on to his coat. "So much… I can't…"

"I have to ask you something first." Jacques sounded tense again. He took a long breath. "Just this one thing then you can sleep, I promise. Klaus…" His voice was soft. "Where's Violet? What happened to your sister?"

Klaus felt the weight of fear crash back. "Olaf has her," he whispered. Tears stung in his eyes. Jacques held him tight.

"Did he – do something to her?" His voice caught, wavered. Klaus thought of what he'd heard in the tent. _My brother… I need to know if he's still alive._

"Matric," Sunny explained, and Klaus translated.

"He married her."

"_What?_"

"He's married?" Madame Lulu exclaimed. "I didn't – I am not seeing about this, please, in my crystal."

"It's a long story," Klaus muttered. He tried to think, put the words in some kind of coherent order, but it was too hard when everything was so hazy. "The play was a trick, and we tried to stop it… but he had Sunny… and Justice Strauss was…" It wouldn't hold together. His eyes kept slipping closed of their own accord.

"It's all right, you don't have to," Jacques' voice said, from far away. They were moving, to the caravan, he guessed. "You can tell me later. The two of you need to rest now." There were steps, and a door opened. "Just rest, and when you wake up, we'll figure out how to help your sister."

"…thank you…" Klaus was vaguely aware of lying down again, this time on something soft, a bed or a couch. He couldn't tell and it didn't matter. He was floating away, Sunny nestled by his side.

"We _will help her_," Jacques repeated, and as he drifted into sleep, Klaus let himself believe it.


	5. Chapter 5

**Warning: **Like the last one with Violet and Olaf, this is not a pleasant chapter. There's violence, threatened sexual assault, and a small amount of bad language. The good news is that I'm pretty sure this is as bad as it's going to get, so future chapters will most likely not be this scary, and I won't have to look through my fingers while I'm writing them.

**Chapter Five**

The morning after her parents died, Violet had woken up thinking _That was a horrible dream. I'm glad it's over, and I'm safely back at home._

She didn't think that this time. The memories were there as soon as she opened her eyes, and for a long time she lay curled on the bed, arms crossed over her chest to keep from splitting apart. This was why people talked about broken hearts, she thought. Something in her was shattered, filling her body with bright, sharp splinters.

She nearly spoke, wanting to tell Klaus what she'd realised, but Klaus wasn't there. Of course. Klaus never would be there. _My head is spinning_, that was another one. _My heart is broken_ and _my head is spinning._ Hers was spinning back to the same few thoughts, a record playing over and over. She opened her mouth again and spoke them out loud, in case that would pin them down and make the whirling stop.

"Klaus is dead," she whispered. Her voice was flat in the still air, and hoarse from last night's screaming. "And Sunny's dead." Tears ran over her cheeks, soaking into the thin grey pillow. "And I'm trapped in this house, with Count Olaf, and he nearly – he was going to…" _That_ word wouldn't come at all. "Hurt me, he was going to hurt me. And it's all my fault. I couldn't do anything…"

_But it's_ not. _And I_ did.

Violet rolled on to her back, staring up at the ceiling. It _wasn't_ her fault. She'd realised that last night, even in her hysteria. Maybe there was a way she could have saved her family, given a little more time or a flash of inspiration, and that _maybe_ would never truly leave her, any more than their deaths would. But she had not murdered them. It would be easier to think that way. She could give up if that was true, sink into apathy and accept whatever suffering still awaited her as punishment. But the truth was, Count Olaf was the murderer. He was the one to blame. And…

"I have to _stop_ him!" she cried, hands clenching at her sides, voice raw and grating in her throat. "I have to _do_ something! I'm the only one who knows!"

_Yes, but how? What can you do against him, Violet?_

She shook her head. "I don't know." She sat up, slowly, feeling her limbs chilled in the room's cold air. "But _something_. I have to try."

There was a bowl of water by the bed, she saw now, and a thin, greyish towel and a sliver of hard soap. Someone must have brought them during the night, along with the bowl of oatmeal and the chipped mug of water that stood on a tray by the door. _I hope that was one of the women_. She shuddered. _At least I can get clean_.

She pushed the bed in front of the door, and carried the bowl to a corner of the room where she was fairly sure she couldn't be seen through the window, before finally taking off the wedding dress. She tried to ball it up and hurl it into a corner, but it unfurled itself and floated to the ground. Quickly she scrubbed herself clean, almost astonished to find splashes of blood on her skin. _I bit him. That really happened._ The act itself she could hardly remember. She just knew that one moment Olaf had been about to –

- _hurt me_ –

yes, that, and the next he'd been stumbling away, staring at her in shock and pain and… fear? Yes, she thought maybe even fear.

"I fought him," she breathed, looking down at her reflection in the water, her pale, red-eyed face surrounded by a tangled black cloud of hair. "I did. Did you see that, Sunny?" she called, raising damp eyes to the ceiling. "That was for you! I couldn't have done it without you!"

She half expected a reply, but of course none came. Wherever Sunny was now, if she was anywhere, Violet couldn't hear her.

She dried her eyes, and then the rest of herself, with the threadbare towel, and put on some of her own clothes. Then she sat down on the bed and ate the oatmeal. It was cold and lumpy, but she forced herself to eat it, washing each spoonful down with a sip of water. She would need all the energy she could get.

Then, she tied back her hair.

As always when she started to invent, she felt gears turning in her mind, smoothly clicking their way to a solution. She was inventing a plan, not a mechanism, but the principle hadn't changed. _Two questions. What do I need, and what do I have?_

_I need to stop Count Olaf, for good. I need to make sure that everyone knows what he did, and that he pays for it._

Good. That part was easy. Now what did she have?

_Nothing,_ the panicky voice interrupted, _nothing and no one, no one will listen…_

_No._ She pushed that thought away. _I have more than that. I have… my knowledge, that he is a murderer and a thief and a… vicious, cruel, terrible man. I have my knowledge of his crimes. I have that, and I have…_

The word _crimes_ sparked a memory. "Justice Strauss!" Violet cried, out loud, almost jumping from the bed in her excitement. She'd almost forgotten her! The one person who had been both kind and helpful. Surely she could help now, if she knew what Olaf had done…

_She didn't help when I _married_ him._ The gears slipped again. But – that had been different. The marriage was _legal_, that was the terrible thing about it. Having two children murdered in cold blood was definitely not.

_Neither was hanging Sunny out of a window, and she didn't say anything about that._

"She didn't _know_," Violet told herself, sternly. "He never actually admitted it, he just said that thing about being tied up. There wasn't any proof…"

She broke off, one hand pressed to her mouth as the truth of what she'd just said hit her. _No proof_. What proof did she have? Only her word against Olaf's, and he would lie the way he always did.

_But – she knows he'll try to trick her. She won't believe him._

Yes, that was right. And that was the worst thing of all. Justice Strauss would know that Olaf was lying, would believe Violet's story, would want desperately to help her – and would be unable to do a thing. Because the law needed evidence, and Violet had none.

_The glasses… the bite…_

Oh, he'd have a story to explain those. Probably he'd say that Klaus and Sunny had run away, ungrateful children that they were. And their bodies lay out in the hinterlands, torn and broken and alone, never to be found…

The gears slipped, crashed, _broke_, and Violet's fists smashed into the bed, over and over. Pain shot up her arms with each blow, but she didn't care, welcomed it in fact. It made the whole thing seem less futile, as if someone would hear the creaking springs or her voice shrieking _no, no, no_ into the empty room, as if anyone who heard that would care. But why not scream, why not punch and kick and sob into the mattress, why not just plain go crazy? Nothing she did would change anything. Klaus would still be dead, Sunny would still be dead, Olaf would still have won, so why bother to resist?

There was a sudden, painful spasm in her chest. At first it seemed like just another part of her grief, then, as the pains returned, sharp and stabbing for a moment before fading, she realised what she'd done and stopped moving, fighting a horrible urge to laugh. Of all the things that could happen on the edge of a mental breakdown, to end up giving herself the _hiccups_…

_That decides it_. She wiped a hand across her face, taking a breath and holding it while she counted, _one Mississippi, two Mississippi. I'm not giving up, not like that anyway. It's too undignified. Not nearly as romantic as people think._

She did laugh then, a short, bitter gasp, and sat up. Her breathing was steadier now, shaky but regular. A few strands of hair had escaped from the ribbon, and she pulled them back and tied the knot a little tighter. _There. Now, start again. I need evidence. How am I going to get it?_

The tower? Would he have written something down? But she'd need another grappling hook, and the tower was probably guarded, assuming she could get to it in the first place… Her hands were shaking. "Stop it," she muttered, locking her fingers together, wincing a little at the pain in her grazed knuckles. "First things first. I need… _to get out of this room_."

She let out a great sigh of relief. _There_ was a problem she could solve. Worry about the rest later.

_Now, what do I have? How do I do it?_

The window seemed an obvious place to start. She looked up at it, and moaned in frustration. While she'd slept, Olaf and his accomplices had done more than bring her oatmeal. Someone had nailed bars across the window, outside the glass. If she'd been thinking more clearly, she'd have noticed them straight away.

She examined the bars to see if there might be a way of detaching them from the inside, but it was impossible unless she broke the window, and if she did that she'd be caught before removing even one. That left the door. She pulled the bed from in front of it, and knelt down to inspect the lock.

"_Yes_," she muttered, peering into the keyhole. "Finally." It was a standard pin tumbler lock, nothing complicated. All she'd need was a thin piece of metal and plenty of time. The only problem was that she'd used most of the room's metal objects for the grappling hook – the bright splinters in her twisted at the memory, but she ignored them, focused on her problem – there had to be something left. Maybe the mattress springs. If she could work one out, without tearing the fabric too much just in case –

There were rapid footsteps outside, and the view through the keyhole abruptly went black as a key was thrust into it. Violet's heart fluttered as she scrambled to her feet, stepping back just in time to avoid being hit when Count Olaf flung open the door.

Time seemed to slow down. It must have taken him only a second to step into the room and grab hold of her arm, but in that one second Violet saw how the bridge of Olaf's nose was swollen and a dark reddish-purple, and how his shirt was buttoned in all the wrong holes and his hair even more unkempt than usual, and most of all she saw the long, gleaming knife in his hand. Then his fingers were around her wrist, twisting her arm, and the point of the blade was at her throat. Barely touching, not drawing blood, not yet, but still she couldn't struggle or cry out.

"You are damn lucky I didn't kill you last night," Olaf snarled. His hand was shaking, fury radiating off him like heat yet somehow Violet was cold, arms prickling with the chill. "You do _anything_ like that again and I will tear you apart, I swear it. I'll make what happened to the rest of your worthless family seem merciful." He dragged her closer, spitting the words into her face. "Do you understand me?"

"Yes." She had a voice, by some miracle, a thin, breathless whisper of one but at least not tearful. She wouldn't cry for him if she could help it.

"Yes, _what_?"

"Yes, I – I understand." Was that right, was that what she had to say? She couldn't tell. Any mistake now would be the end. She lowered her eyes. "I'm sorry," she whispered, hoping the tightness in her voice would be taken for fear and not disgust at the lie.

Olaf didn't respond for a while. Violet wished she could see his face, but she knew if she looked up, if she said or did anything, things would be worse. She kept still instead and listened, waited as his rough, heavy breathing gradually slowed and calmed. There was a strange whistling noise every time he inhaled, that in other circumstances Violet would have found ridiculous. Now she felt as though she were standing on the edge of a deep, black hole. The thought of her own death hadn't occurred to her, except in the most abstract sense. Now it was real, and she couldn't let it happen. Her siblings needed her, still, even though they were gone.

"Right," Olaf muttered. The knife moved away from Violet's throat, and she gasped in relief without meaning to as the grip on her arm slackened, letting her turn it back the right way. She dared to look up just as Olaf turned away and strode toward the door, pulling her after him.

He didn't look at her. The house seemed deserted apart from the two of them, but Violet didn't have much time to look as she was dragged along, doing her best not to stumble. _Where are we going?_ she nearly asked, but that was a stupid question, wasn't it? She knew the answer.

She was his wife, after all.

Panic threatened again, but it was getting easier and easier to push back. The ribbon helped. She reached up to touch it with her free hand. _I have to let him do it. That's not giving in, not if the other choice is dying. I'm making him _think_ it is. I'm the one tricking him now. It won't be so bad, if I look at it that way…_

She could tell herself that and believe it, but her feet still froze in the doorway of his room. Olaf gave a disgusted sigh, turned back and pushed her, so she staggered toward the bed. She stared down at his tangled grey sheets, and the door clicked shut behind her, and she closed her eyes and felt the sour, slimy taste of fear and lumpy oatmeal rise in her throat. _It's not so bad, not compared to losing them, nothing's that bad, and this is just happening to my body, it's just going to hurt and then it's over. Then it's over._

She felt him come up behind her. His breath on her hair.

_I won't scream, I won't cry, just let it happen, it's not going to…_

"Give me your hand," Olaf said, and Violet's eyes flew open again.

"What?"

"I _said_, give me your hand." He made a grab for her arm again, and she pulled back without thinking.

"What are you doing?" The question was out before she could stop it.

Olaf glared at her. "Making sure this looks like a proper marriage," he said, in a tone that suggested he was being very patient with her by explaining this. He raised the knife a little, so that light shone off the blade. "There are two ways we can do that, Violet. This way's a lot quicker and a lot less unpleasant for you, but if you're going to be difficult about it…" He trailed off, letting his smirk and the way his eyes trailed up and down her body finish the sentence. Violet drew back, arms crossed over her chest.

"But you…" There didn't seem enough air in her lungs for her to speak, but she could hear herself, just, and assumed he could too. "I thought that's – what – what you wanted…"

Olaf stared. The smirk faded, leaving a weird, blank expression that she didn't have time to identify before it transformed once again into a sneer of disgust. "Don't flatter yourself," he spat. The room seemed to twist, almost knocking Violet against the wall. She tensed, managing to stay upright. "You think I went to all this trouble for _you_? You're here because your sainted parents left you a very large sum of money, and that's all. Don't ever forget it." He took a step toward her, raising the knife again. "Now are you going to hold your hand out like a good little girl, or do I have to…"

Violet's left arm shot forward. Olaf took her wrist, a little less roughly this time, and drew the knife across her palm. She was aware that it hurt, that the wound wasn't deep but it would sting for a long time and probably take days to heal fully, but the pain seemed unimportant. A rushing sound that might have been her heartbeat echoed in her ears as she watched three drops of blood splash onto the sheets. Olaf frowned at them, then pushed her arm back down. "That's enough." He glanced at her, sideways, not meeting her eyes, then turned away again and headed for the door.

Violet didn't move. Another echo of last night was on her, that sense of brightness, over-reality, that she'd felt after the bite. She gazed at her cut hand, the lines on her palm sharp and defined, a vivid trail of blood running slowly down toward her wrist. Olaf turned in the doorway. "Are you coming, or do I have to drag you again?"

She turned to face him. Her fingers closed over her wound. "Don't _flatter_ myself?" she repeated, and while again her tone was high and incredulous she didn't feel in any danger of losing control. "Don't flatter myself. I see. I guess I misunderstood, then. I suppose there's some other reason you had both my siblings murdered and kept me alive, because I'm such a pretty girl."

Olaf's face turned paler than usual, apart from the bite. "You – don't – know – _anything_," he hissed, leaving the doorway and coming toward her and Violet knew she should be quiet, it wasn't that she couldn't be quiet, she just didn't want to. Her own face she knew was flushed with rage and it was good to feel angry, it was pure and clear, not like the dark, murky, clinging feelings of grief and guilt and despair.

"Don't I?" she asked, spreading her arms as if addressing a whole crowd of people who could answer, as if standing on a stage. "Maybe you'd better explain, then. What exactly _are_ my responsibilities as your wife? Because I _thought_ that had something to do with letting you rape me, but _obviously_ I was just…"

She didn't see his hand move. One moment she was standing and the next she was on the floor, pain blossoming in her cheek, fingers clutching at the carpet as if belatedly trying to keep her balance. Olaf gripped her hair and wrenched her head back. For the second time that day, she felt cold metal at her throat.

"What did I say about defying me? _What did I say, Violet_?" She was speechless. He shook her by the hair. "Answer me, damn it! Or do you _want_ me to kill you? Huh? Want me to slash that fragile little neck? Want to see Mommy and Daddy again, is that it, you stupid brat?"

_I'm dead,_ Violet thought, _and I failed you again. Klaus, Sunny… I was stupid, I was reckless. I'm so sorry._ She closed her eyes, tears spilling from them for the last time. "No…" _It can't end like this. What have I done?_

She heard Olaf bend down, felt his breath against her ear. "Then keep your _damn mouth shut_," he snarled, and let go of her hair. She crashed to the floor again, breathless, still waiting for death. Only when she saw him stand up, wiping his hand on his shirt as though he'd touched something dirty, did she realise he'd thought she was answering him.

"Get up," he ordered, and Violet, still half winded, obeyed.

Back in her room she collapsed onto the bed, hands clasped over her racing heart. Later she would get up. She'd bandage her hand with something, and then see about unlocking the door. For now, she just lay there, shaking and whispering promises to Klaus and Sunny, if they could hear her.

_I'm sorry. I'll be careful. I won't let you down, not again._

She owed it to them to survive. She was the lucky one, after all.

* * *

AN: In case anyone doesn't know, the blood on the sheets thing was used many years ago as proof that a woman had lost her virginity. I don't think the ASOUE-verse legal system is actually archaic enough to require this, but Olaf's mainly doing it to humiliate Violet.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

Klaus had to find Violet. He knew she was in the hospital, but every carriage of this train looked the same to him and there was no map to tell him which one it was. Sunny couldn't help, she was locked in her cage and if he didn't get to Violet in time she'd be fattened up and eaten. Violet would be able to break the bars. But there was so much smoke in here he couldn't see.

He rushed into another compartment. A portrait of his mother hung on the wall, tears streaming down her painted cheeks. _Mom!_ he shouted, over the noise of the engine. _I need to find the hospital! Violet's in trouble!_

She shook her head mournfully. _I can't go there any more, darling. I'm dead already, they wouldn't take me. And I love your father. What's past is past._

_But I need your help!_ Klaus cried. _I don't understand!_

She reached into her coat. _Take this._ She pulled out her dictionary, the one she'd promised to give to Klaus when he was older, and threw it to him. It slipped through his fingers and fell into the smoke at his feet. He dived after it, plunging into misty white clouds that went on for much further than they should have, hands grasping only air. Two voices were arguing somewhere nearby, a man and a woman. He raised a hand to his face, to adjust his glasses, and found they weren't there.

And then he realised he wasn't on a train at all, he was lying on a bed, or a couch, and Sunny was curled beside him. He tried to lift his head, but he was still too groggy and exhausted to move.

The voices were still there, and as he realised that he recognised them. "It is not, please, a matter of liking or not," Madame Lulu snapped. "My job is to answer questions. If anyone is asking me a question I am answering it. This is problem with all you Snicket family. You are thinking it is all so easy to be choosing sides."

"Don't you bring my family into this," Jacques warned. "Don't you dare. You can't claim neutrality forever. You must know what would happen if…"

"If anyone is asking question, I am answering it," Madame Lulu repeated loudly, "and if anyone is _not_ asking question, I am not answering. I think you should be making sure there is no asking of questions."

"You're not seriously suggesting that…" The voices moved away. Klaus strained to hear what they said next, but the effort was too much and he gave up and let his mind drift away again. He was floating, Sunny in his arms. They were going to the castle in the air, but the sky was full of black birds, squawking, with shining beaks and dark red eyes…

When Jacques woke him again a few hours later, he didn't remember the voices at all.

* * *

"I brought you these," Jacques said, helping Klaus sit up and pressing something thin and cold into his hand. Klaus examined the object with his fingers, and realised with a surge of relief that it was a new pair of glasses. "I hope they fit you properly," Jacques continued, as Klaus hurriedly slipped them on. "I had to guess the right measurements. I didn't like to move you."

"They're fine. Thank you!" Klaus looked up and saw Sunny, sitting at a round table in the middle of the room. She smiled at him. Something that looked like rice from the bowl in front of her was stuck to her cheeks. The woman sitting next to her, presumably Madame Lulu, didn't smile exactly, but she gave a little wave. She wore a turban, and a long, shimmering dress, and round her neck hung a necklace bearing the symbol of an eye. Klaus felt a cold shiver when he saw it, even though he thought Jacques had told the truth about the eye's other meaning.

"I have made food for children also," Madame Lulu said. "We were not sure what you would be wanting, so there is risotto, which is being easy to make and soft for baby."

"Aldent," Sunny said, which meant _It didn't seem polite to point out that I prefer hard food, but I'm so hungry it doesn't matter anyway._

"It looks delicious," Klaus said, feeling his stomach growl at the sight. He took the new glasses off for a second to rub his eyes, which still felt tired. "You knew my prescription?" he asked, looking up at Jacques, a little unnerved again to see that the man only had one eyebrow. The eyes beneath the eyebrow, though, were nothing like Count Olaf's. They looked kind, and weary, and when Klaus asked his question, very solemn.

"We know a lot of things about you, Klaus," he said, pouring Klaus a glass of water from a jug on the table. "The one thing we _don't_ know is how on earth the two of you ended up here."

Klaus swallowed nearly all of the water in one gulp, only realising then how horribly thirsty he was. Jacques took the glass from him and filled it up again. "It's sort of a long story…"

"Perhaps you should be waiting until you have eaten," Madame Lulu suggested, handing Klaus a bowl of risotto and coming to sit beside him, on what he now saw was a small and rather battered sofa.

"Thank you." Klaus took a mouthful of rice. It _was_ delicious, although even Mrs Poe's over boiled potatoes would have tasted wonderful to him just then. "But I'd prefer to tell it now. I don't want to put this off any longer." He bit his lip. "When we first arrived at Olaf's house…"

Once he'd started it was difficult to stop. The words poured out of him, only pausing when he ate or drank some more or Sunny pointed out something he'd forgotten. Madame Lulu's dark eyes widened as the story went on, and when Klaus reached the part about Sunny in the birdcage she gasped and raised a hand to her mouth. Jacques didn't make a sound, but he turned pale and pressed his lips together very tightly, staring down at the table.

"…and he just drove away," Klaus finished at last. "And you know what happened then. We heard music, and we followed it here."

Nobody spoke. The silence grew deep, and uncomfortable. Klaus felt as though all his words were still hanging in the air around him, echoing back and forth, and sounding more and more outlandish with each repetition, like something from a bad melodramatic novel. Nothing like that could happen in real life, to real people, surely? _But it could. It_ did. He looked over at Sunny. Her face was white and pinched, an expression he'd seen too many times.

"Didn't you tell anyone how he treated you?" Jacques' tone was unreadable. Klaus felt dizzy, hollow. _Is_ he _suspicious now? But it's the truth, it is…_

"We tried." His throat was parched again, and the water was gone. "We told Mr Poe, but…" He'd left this part out, he wasn't sure why. It wasn't the worst thing, nowhere near, but his face was hot and his hands shook. "He said we'd have to get used to things being different. He said Olaf was acting in loco parentis."

Jacques turned toward him. "_In loco parentis_?" he repeated, voice lowered, in flat disbelief. Klaus shrank into the cushion, nails digging into his palms, barely aware of Madame Lulu's hesitant movement at the other side of him. _No, please, we need you, please listen, don't…_

His voice spoke automatically. "It means 'acting in the role of a parent'-"

"I _know_ what it means!" Jacques' hand smacked into the table, clattering bowls and glasses. Sunny burst into tears. Klaus sprang from the sofa, ran to his sister and held her as Jacques paced the little room, hands waving through the air. "It means 'I'm a bureaucratic imbecile who's not fit to be responsible for a _goldfish_,' that's what it means! It means that blinkered _ignoramus_ couldn't take his damned handkerchief away from his face long enough to see he was leaving you alone with a drunken brute who –"

"Jacques!" Madame Lulu was on her feet as well, pointing a long, painted fingernail at Klaus and Sunny. "You will not be scaring children again, please!"

Jacques stopped pacing and lowered his hands, slowly, as if he'd just woken up. Sunny whimpered, her sobs fading, and burrowed into Klaus' arms. He rocked her, making gentle shushing sounds that would be useless to comfort her if she could feel his racing heartbeat. Or even if she saw his face, as Jacques did now, turning to him and looking stricken. "Oh, no…" He ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head. "Sunny, Klaus, I'm sorry. I'm an idiot, I'm sorry. I'm not shouting at you. I'm just – I am so _sick_ of him being able to get away with these things. Every time. He tramples on innocent people's lives and he's just arrogant enough to –" He flung his arms up again in disgust, abandoning the sentence. "Anyway, I shouldn't have blown up like that. There's no excuse. After what you two have been through…"

Klaus gaped at him. Words, for once, deserted him. He wanted to tell Jacques that he wasn't frightened, not any more, that wasn't why his legs trembled and his head span. He could call it relief, but it was more than that. Amazement, maybe. Simple shock at seeing feelings he'd forced aside displayed in front of him, hearing words he'd barely let himself think shouted across the caravan. _You know. I didn't think anyone knew._

Sunny, as usual, summed it up in one word. "Avidicent," she said, and Klaus translated. "You _believe_ us."

"Of course we are believing you," Madame Lulu said. "Remember, please, we are hearing parts of story already from my crystal and what my Jacques is investigating. We are telling you this when you come here."

"I – I thought –" He couldn't finish. He was crying again, he realised, properly this time, not trying to restrain it. Jacques put a hand on his shoulder.

"You thought you were alone," he said, softly. Klaus nodded. Jacques bent down, looking him in the eyes. "And you thought you were helpless. I know, because –" He paused, and took a shuddering breath. Klaus realised with a start that Jacques' eyes were filled with tears, as well. "Because that's what Olaf wanted you to think. But the truth is, you three children are resourceful, intelligent, and extremely brave people, and you have more friends in this world than you know."

_The three of us…_ Klaus saw his sister's face again, pale beneath the stage lights. "Violet…" he whispered. "Violet's still…"

"I know, and we're going to get her back." Jacques stood upright again, but his hand still gripped Klaus' shoulder, strong and firm. "Believe it or not," he added, taking a handkerchief from his pocket and passing it to Klaus, "based on what you just told me, I have some good news."

Sunny frowned. "Bene?"

"She says she can't think of anything good about that story," Klaus explained, wiping his eyes. He had to agree with her. Jacques and Madame Lulu clearly _wanted_ to help, which seemed a miracle in itself, but he couldn't imagine how they could.

"Perhaps baby is not thinking of them," Madame Lulu said, sitting back down on the couch and patting the cushion beside her. Klaus sat next to her, Sunny cradled in his lap. "But I am thinking there are at least two good things. Is this right?" she asked Jacques, as he sat down beside Klaus.

He nodded. "That's what I thought. You tell them."

"First thing is being good news and bad news," Lulu explained, counting on her fingers. "Bad news is because marriage is legal in front of judge, this is making Count Olaf legal owner of Baudelaire fortune…"

"Bosh!" Sunny interrupted, sounding indignant.

"We don't care about that," Klaus translated.

"Be letting me finish, please," Madame Lulu said, frowning. "Children should not interrupt. As I am saying, Olaf is owner now of Baudelaire money by being husband of Violet. But _because_ he is husband, he is no longer having rights of parent. Violet is like married adult woman, free to go and come as she pleases. Count Olaf is having no custody."

"But he's not going to _let_ her go, is he?" Klaus said. Madame Lulu's eyes darkened.

"No," she said, quietly. "He will be making sure she is staying put."

"_But_," Jacques added, "that brings us to the second piece of good news. Which is that Arthur Poe is an idiot," he said, with a grim smile. Klaus frowned at him, baffled. "Olaf won't be able to get his hands on the money right away," Jacques explained. "There'll be a pile of red tape to get through – that means rules and regulations that are mostly pointless. If I know Poe, it'll take him at least a week. And until he has the money, Olaf won't risk harming Violet. At least…" He trailed off, uncomfortably.

"He'll keep her alive," Klaus finished. There was a big difference, of course, between keeping a person alive and not hurting them, so big that his stomach twisted at the thought of it. Still, for the first time since discovering Olaf's plan, he felt truly hopeful. They had time. They had a chance.

Jacques nodded. "That's right. And that gives us time to think of a plan. I'm afraid it won't be as simple as breaking in and rescuing her, not without someone who's a lot better at concealment than I am, and that's…" He looked pained for a second. "It's going to be difficult. We'll have to consult with the others as soon as possible," he added, addressing Lulu.

"You are leaving still so quickly?" Her voice fell in disappointment. "You know you and children are welcome to stay extra day, my Jacques. Time for resting, not rushing off to mountains."

"There _is_ no time for resting." Jacques sighed. "There never is. I told you I couldn't stay long when I arrived here."

"Excuse me," Klaus said, before Lulu could answer. "Why are we going to the mountains? Who are we consulting?"

"Of course, you are not knowing." Madame Lulu smiled at Klaus for the first time. "In mountains, please, is headquarters of VFD. It is safe place for all volunteers to be meeting and working together. Beautiful place. There is waterfall right beside. And there is library also of course, and swimming pool, and many kitchens, and workshops for making of inventions, and all other things you will be seeing when Jacques is taking you there."

_Workshops for inventing_, Klaus thought. _She said it as if she knows Violet's going to see them._ Had she looked in her crystal ball again? He'd never been sure how a ball of glass could tell the future, but if it was possible…

"Lugo?" Sunny asked, and Klaus translated, "Are you coming with us?"

"I cannot leave carnival," Madame Lulu said quickly. "Running business is hard work, and many people are wanting to hear fortunes."

"Yes, they are." Jacques stood up. "Would you excuse me, please? I need to make a phone call."

"He is good man, Jacques Snicket," Madame Lulu said, quietly, as Jacques left the caravan. "Always he is busy being detective. Not stopping, please, even for visiting of friends." She watched as he passed the window, then shook her head, turning back to Klaus and Sunny. "He is good at job, this is what I am saying. If anyone is helping your sister it is being him."

"Snicket…" Klaus knew he'd heard the name before, but he couldn't think where. The memory wouldn't come into focus, as if his mind had lost its glasses too. "That sounds familiar."

"He is friend of your parents. Perhaps they are mentioning." Madame Lulu stood up, brushing wrinkles from her shimmering skirt. "More important question now, please, is are children wanting any more risotto? I am making plenty."

* * *

"We really can't thank you enough," Klaus told Lulu, later, as they waited for Jacques to bring his car around. "If we hadn't found this place, I don't know what would have happened."

"It is not any trouble, please," Madame Lulu said, waving a hand. Jacques pulled up beside them. "I am always being ready to help, please, when people are coming to me with problem."

"You certainly are." Jacques stepped out of the car, and opened the door for Klaus and Sunny. "There's a baby seat in there for you, Sunny. I always bring it with me, even though this is only the third time I've needed it. Still, you never know."

"Diolch," Sunny said, meaning _Thanks._

"I am hoping your sister is joining you soon, please," Madame Lulu said, bending down to kiss first Sunny and then Klaus on the cheek. "Goodbye, and good luck with your rescuing."

They said goodbye and got into the car. Klaus helped Sunny into her seat, realising, amazed, that less than a day ago they'd been in the back of a long black car just like this one, thinking they were driving to their deaths. It didn't seem possible that their luck could have changed so fast, yet here it was happening.

Madame Lulu waved to them both as they drove away, and Klaus and Sunny waved back, until the carnival had vanished in the distance.

"Eta?" Sunny asked, settling back into her seat.

"I don't know." Klaus leaned forward. "Sunny wants to know how long it'll take to reach the headquarters."

Jacques didn't answer. He stared straight ahead, seeming not to hear anything. Klaus felt a small flutter of nerves in his stomach. "Mr Snicket? Jacques?"

"We're not going to reach it," Jacques muttered, still not turning round. At least that was what it sounded like to Klaus, but surely he couldn't have…

"What?" The fluttering felt more like a hurricane. "What do you…?"

"We're not going to the mountain headquarters," Jacques said, turning to look at him. His face was pale and set again, and Klaus felt his arms go weak. "I'm so sorry to have to do this, but it can't be helped. I've already put you in terrible danger."


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

"Please, don't panic." Jacques raised a hand. "We're safe enough for the moment, but I want to get away from here as soon as possible. We'll head out towards the foothills, then double back."

"Biska?" Sunny demanded. Her fingers were clenched tight around her seatbelt, but her voice was strong and clear. Klaus doubted that anyone but him could have told how frightened she was.

"What's going on?" he translated, hoping his tone matched hers. "Where are you taking us?"

Jacques sighed heavily, turning back to the road. "I'm sorry," he repeated. "For throwing all of this at you at once – although I must say, you're coping better than a lot of new volunteers – and because I haven't been altogether honest with you. Or rather, I've let someone else's dishonesty go unquestioned. Madame Lulu…" He looked out at the distant mountains, apparently wondering how to proceed. "She's not what she appears to be. She's not a real fortune teller, for a start."

"Lori?" Sunny asked Klaus, quietly. She meant _Does that mean she doesn't really know whether we'll save Violet?,_ and Klaus could tell from her face that he didn't need to answer.

"I don't know where she gets all her information," Jacques went on, "but it's not her crystal ball. And she does tell the truth, to anyone who wants to hear it. That's the problem, in fact." His eyes in the rear view mirror darkened, narrowed. "Lulu tells anyone _anything_."

It took a second for Klaus to grasp the meaning of this. "You – you mean she might tell _Olaf_? Where we were?"

"Oh, absolutely." Jacques' tone was bitter. "She refuses to take sides, you see. No matter what."

"But he's… and she… she made us risotto!" Klaus knew how absurd this sounded, but he couldn't help it. Madame Lulu had taken them in and fed them, and seemed so kind… "She helped us! She said she hoped Violet would be joining us soon… how could someone do that and then hand us over to _him_?"

"Not every decision's so easy," Jacques said, quietly. "The schism didn't divide us neatly, wicked people on one side and noble on the other. It split apart friends, and families. Lulu was caught in the middle of all that, and she couldn't cope. She didn't know the right thing to do, so she decided the best thing was to give everyone what they wanted. And she's stuck to that ever since, even in situations where the right thing should be obvious. She won't accept that she can't stay neutral forever."

Sunny frowned at Jacques. "Sturmhit?" she asked. _How do we know _you're_ telling the truth?_

"I think he is," Klaus said, slowly, as a memory came back. "I woke up and heard you arguing," he told Jacques, "outside the caravan. I didn't remember until now because I was half asleep, but you said something like that, didn't you? About not being able to stay neutral. And Madame Lulu told you – you'd have to prevent anyone asking questions."

Jacques raised his eyebrow. "Not bad," he murmured, apparently to himself, then, louder, "She had a point. If Olaf doesn't have a reason to suspect you're alive, he won't ask about you, and if he doesn't ask about you, Lulu won't tell him you're with me. Things aren't as bad as they might be, but it would only take one sighting of you for Olaf to get suspicious. And if Fernald says anything…"

"Fernald?" Sunny asked.

"The hook-handed man. He was supposed to kill you, of course, so presumably he won't want Olaf finding out that he let you go. I'd say you were probably safe on that front, only…" Jacques frowned. "I don't know why he let you live in the first place. That's what worries me. Fernald can be – _volatile_, and if he's decided that Olaf is…"

He trailed off, lost in his own thoughts. Klaus put a hand to his temple. His head ached with questions, and there was a heavy, dull feeling in his stomach whenever he thought of Madame Lulu and her crystal. _How could someone so kind be so dangerous? And how could someone who tried to kill us be kind? Since the fire, it feels like there's nothing left we can trust…_

Sunny touched his arm. Her hand was shaking. Klaus put his arm around her shoulders, and they sat for a long time in silence, sharing their fears.

It occurred to Klaus that there was something else Jacques hadn't told them. He leaned forward again. "Jacques? Where _are_ we going?"

"Oh, yes." Jacques looked round again and actually smiled, a little, although it was pale and strained. "We're going to stay with a friend of mine. And a distant relative of yours, although I don't think you've actually met. I phoned him earlier. He's incredibly excited about seeing you both. At this very moment he's baking you a coconut cream cake." He shook his head, with a soft laugh. "Monty's always been the enthusiastic type. Oh, and he says you're to call him Uncle Monty, or just Monty, if you like, but definitely not Doctor Montgomery. That's far too stuffy." His expression grew solemn. "He's a good man. I'd trust him with my life, and more to the point, I trust him with yours."

Klaus nodded, and swallowed. There seemed to be something caught in his throat. "What kind of a doctor is he?" he asked. Jacques let out a breath and turned back to the wheel.

"He's a herpetologist. I don't know if you know what that means…"

" 'Ology' means the study of something, but I don't know what that is," Klaus admitted.

"Reptiles," Jacques explained. "Snakes, mostly. Don't worry," he added, as Klaus and Sunny both gasped, "most of them are harmless, and the ones that aren't are in extremely secure cages. Monty's very careful with his specimens. And his guests," he added, with a rather more convincing smile. "I think you'll get on well."

"Mica," Sunny said, which meant _I hope so._

"Of course, Monty gets along with most people," Jacques said, "unless they're cruel, or tedious, or they make fun of his name. Which I suppose is both a cruel thing to do and a tedious thing to put up with every time one introduces oneself. But I'm sure you two would never do such a thing."

"Of course not," Klaus said. "Is that why you call him Monty, because he doesn't want people to use his first name?"

Jacques gave a strange smile. "Monty _is_ his first name."

"But I thought – oh! You mean it's…"

Jacques nodded. "Montgomery Montgomery, yes. Apparently there was a tradition on his mother's side of the family."

"Oops," Sunny said, but she couldn't help smiling. She pressed a hand over her mouth as Jacques glanced in her direction.

"It's okay," he told her. "Everyone reacts like that at first. Even my brother, and _his_ name – " He broke off abruptly, turning to look out of the window again. Klaus and Sunny exchanged glances, wondering if he knew how much they'd heard outside the tent.

"He was named after an old friend of my mother's," Jacques said, sounding as if this were a normal conversation, though his fingers turned white around the steering wheel. "And _he_ was named after a rather literal translation of the name of a man who once saved his father's life. I sometimes wonder what would have happened if that man's name had been just a little easier to pronounce." He paused, gazing out at the shadowy mountains as they grew closer. "Maybe it would have changed some things," he said, quietly. "And maybe not. Compared to everything else that happened… I don't suppose being named Lemony would have had that significant an effect."

Klaus stared at him. "I – I beg your pardon?"

"Lemony. Like the fruit." Jacques sighed, still gazing out of the window. The landscape was changing, occasional hills and trees breaking the dusty monotony of the plains. "We can turn here," Jacques said, glancing in the rear view mirror. Then, almost casually, "You heard what I asked Lulu earlier, didn't you?"

Klaus gulped again. "Yes."

"So you know that my brother is…" Jacques winced a little, as if in pain, twisting the steering wheel sharply. "Not well."

"We know." Klaus wanted to say more, but he couldn't. Jacques watched the road intently as the car turned round, as though all of his attention was focused on safe driving.

"Kalma," Sunny said, softly. Klaus translated, "You must be worried for him."

"I'm petrified." Jacques exhaled sharply. "I've been petrified for the past fifteen years. Ever since – ever since he left."

_Fifteen years…_ Klaus shivered. A day was bad enough.

"When I lost my temper earlier – when I scared you so badly…" Jacques shuddered, his voice faltering. "I shouldn't have let myself snap like that, but I just couldn't stand it. Count Olaf tore my family apart, and to hear that he did it to you as well, and no one realised, no one stopped him…" He shook his head, wordless.

Sunny's brow furrowed in confusion. "Lenore?"

Klaus hissed "Shh!" but Jacques had already heard. He raised his eyebrow. "What was that, Sunny?"

"Sunny thought – well, Madame Lulu said your brother was – was sick because of someone who died," Klaus explained. "We didn't realise – it didn't occur to us that Count Olaf was involved in…" He had a feeling as he spoke that he _should_ have realised. Something about the connection seemed inevitable.

"I can't talk about that," Jacques said, quickly. Klaus bit his lip.

"I'm sorry."

"No, don't be. You've a right to ask." Jacques' tone softened, and he relaxed his grip on the wheel a bit. "There are things I think you ought to know, but it's not my place to tell you, not without speaking to my brother first. Things that are very complicated, and very personal. Do you understand?"

"We do," Klaus said. That connection still nagged at him, something obvious he wasn't seeing – an image of thick smoke filled his mind – but he respected that Jacques didn't want to talk about it. He could understand that.

"Capische," Sunny said, with a firm nod. "Soror," she added, quietly, and Klaus put an arm round her again. _All I care about right now is Violet._

"You'll meet him soon enough," Jacques said, "if all goes well. By the end of the week. We'll get Lemony out of Heimlich and Violet away from Olaf and then we'll find a safe place for the lot of you. Somewhere you can rest." He looked at the mirror, the mountains fading again into the distance. "If all goes well…" he repeated, to himself.

"Isn't a hospital a safe place?" Klaus asked, but he realised the answer straight away. "Not if Madame Lulu knows about it…" The weight in his stomach grew heavier. "I thought she must be a good person," he whispered. "I really did."

"She's not a _bad_ person," Jacques said. "There was a time, very long ago, when…" He fell quiet for a long while. "Never mind," he muttered, changing gear. "What's important right now is helping our families. The rest of it can wait." He looked back over his shoulder at the children. "I realise that what I'm about to say will be entirely useless, but – try not to worry too much. We'll get your sister out of there. Monty and I have been on plenty of rescue missions before, and as for Lemony – you remember I said we'd need an expert in concealment to be able to break in?"

"Your brother's good at hiding himself?"

Jacques shook his head. "No," he said, and to Klaus' extreme surprise, he grinned. "He isn't good. He's _phenomenal_."

* * *

Violet held her breath. The sharp end of the uncoiled mattress spring dug into her damp palm, but she didn't feel it. One more pin. That was all she needed. Get that last little piece of metal out of the way, and she'd be out of here. She could feel it, she heard the soft grinding noise as it started to slide, and then…

Her hand slipped. The pins all clicked back into place, and Violet moaned in frustration, letting the lockpick fall to the floor. Her left hand throbbed with pain, and when she looked at it she saw fresh blood soaking through the strips of sheet she'd tied round it for a bandage. She'd been clenching her empty fist hard enough to open the cut again.

She sat back, breathing hard and shivering. _I won't panic. I have plenty of time to do this. What would Dad say? Don't think of it as failure. Think of it as learning the ways that don't work._

She shook her head. _No, he wouldn't. He'd say "I'm taking you home, Ed. You're safe now. Count Olaf is gone and you'll never have to see him again. It's all over."_

"Daddy…" She whimpered, right hand covering her eyes, her hair falling from its ribbon and over her face in limp strings. "Dad, help me… I can't… I can't…"

He didn't come. There was no point in calling. Her father couldn't rescue her, because he was gone. And his place had been stolen. Violet felt her lip curl as she stared at the door. "_You're_ not my father!" she hissed. "You're not my husband, and you're not – my – _dad_!"

_And you're not going to keep me in here._ She wrenched her hair back, twisting so hard that a few strands pulled loose. Never mind. She stretched her right hand in front of her, flexing her aching fingers. The room was growing dark. Stretching out the spring had taken longer than she'd expected.

_I'm tired._ She picked up the lockpick again, wincing as she gripped it. _I'm tired and my hand hurts. I need to rest._ She knelt forward again and carefully slipped the wire back into the lock. _One more try, then I'll go to bed. I can start again in the morning. It'll be easier when I've had some sleep._

The wire found the first pin. Violet bit her lip.

_One more try.

* * *

_

By the time they arrived at the house the stars were all out, and Sunny was too sleepy to lift her head. Klaus tried to keep his eyes open, but he couldn't stop himself from yawning. "I'm sorry," he told Uncle Monty, as they sat in his kitchen, eating sandwiches and coconut cake.

Uncle Monty shook his head. "My dear boy, there's nothing to be sorry for. After everything the two of you have been through, it's no surprise you're worn out. Jacques told me all about it." He grimaced, as if the cake frosting had suddenly turned bitter. "I've made up beds for you both in a couple of the spare rooms," he continued. "Of course, if you don't like the rooms I've put you in you're free to choose new ones tomorrow. I want you to be comfortable for as long as you're living here."

"We have… our own rooms?" Klaus blinked, not sure he'd taken this in. There'd been a time when he'd had a room to himself, way back in the distant past when kindness in adults could be taken for granted.

"Of course you do!" Uncle Monty exclaimed. "You don't think I'd keep you cooped up in just the one?"

Sunny's carrot stick fell from her hand. "Heras," she mumbled, snuggling up to Klaus. He put his arms round her, kissing her on the forehead.

"It's very kind of you," he told Uncle Monty. "But – tonight, we'd prefer to be together."

Uncle Monty looked at them for a long time, then nodded sadly. "Of course you would, poor _bambini_. I understand."

The bed was soft, the sheets crisp and clean. Sunny was asleep before Klaus laid her on the pillows, but she wriggled and muttered a little as she touched them, as if perplexed. Klaus climbed in beside her and closed his eyes, listening to the sound of his own breath and hers.

_It's wrong_, he thought, _no Violet, Violet's missing…_ The confusion of the day swirled in his mind as he drifted off, a whirlpool centred round a single thought.

_Violet…_

Klaus slept.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

"Isn't there _anything_ we can do?"

"I'm sorry." Uncle Monty looked down at the eggs he was scrambling for Klaus, so regretfully that Klaus felt guilty for asking the question again. "Jacques insisted that you shouldn't leave the house, and I agree with him. You can't be seen right now. He didn't even want me to show you the Reptile Room, in case someone saw you through the walls, but I think that should be okay as long as you're disguised."

"So we just have to wait for him to get back?" Klaus paused in his pacing around the kitchen and shook his head. "I'm sorry. I know you're right, I'm just frustrated. The thought of Violet alone with _him_… I want to _do_ something. I feel so useless."

Sunny slapped a hand against the table. "Tidot," she said, through a mouthful of toast. _Me too._

"You're not useless at all. In fact –" Uncle Monty broke off, poking the eggs with a spoon. "Are these cooked enough for you?" Klaus nodded, and he switched off the heat. "Good. As I was saying, there's plenty you can do to help here."

"But –" Klaus snapped his mouth shut – he'd been on the point of saying _but I want to be helping _Violet, which would have been horribly ungrateful and not exactly what he meant anyway. He would be glad to help Uncle Monty, it wasn't as though he was a slave driver like Olaf, but herpetological assistance wouldn't be enough to distract him from his sister.

"Of course, you'd both like to go out and rescue your sister right now," Uncle Monty said, spooning the eggs onto a plate. "But just because you're stuck in the house doesn't mean you can't do anything useful. The three of us – four, when Gustav's here – need to figure out what happens afterwards. Do sit down."

Klaus sat down next to Sunny. Uncle Monty passed him his eggs, before sitting as well and knocking the top off his own boiled egg with a spoon. "_What_ happens afterwards?" Klaus asked.

Uncle Monty tapped some salt into his egg. "I'm afraid you won't all be safe once Violet's rescued," he said. "Count Olaf isn't likely to give up. You'll have to lie low, somewhere he won't think to look for you."

Sunny dropped her handful of toast. "Petu?" she whispered – _Won't he _ever_ leave us alone?_ Klaus knew how she felt. He wasn't sure he could eat his breakfast now either.

"Which is why," Uncle Monty went on, "I'm taking you to Peru."

"_What?_"

"Not for good," Uncle Monty explained hastily, "just a month or so. The Herpetological Society is planning an expedition. Gustav and I already have tickets, and I can easily get hold of three more. We should be away for long enough to throw Olaf off the scent, and if he does follow us, hopefully he'll be torn apart by something vicious. That was a joke," he added, seeing Klaus' expression. "Although I'll admit it would be satisfying."

"Yep," Sunny agreed, darkly.

Klaus put a hand to his whirling head. Somehow, he'd never considered what would happen after Violet returned. The task of rescuing her seemed so vast that he couldn't imagine anything beyond it. But Olaf _would_ try to follow them, wouldn't he…?

"I don't suppose we have a choice," he said, and then realised his mistake in Uncle Monty's hurt expression. "No, that's not what I meant! I'd love to go to Peru, I just mean you're right. We'll still have to hide, even then…"

Uncle Monty reached across the table and patted Klaus' hand. "It _won't_ last forever," he said, quietly. "Hardly anything does."

Klaus didn't answer. _I feel as though it's _already_ lasted forever…_

"Caba?" Sunny asked.

"Good question." Klaus blinked. "What is it you said we could do to help now?"

"Oh, yes." Uncle Monty shook his head. "I haven't explained yet, have I…? I need your help, Klaus, to read up on the area we'll be visiting. There are plenty of books in my library, but someone needs to look through them all and make detailed notes. And Sunny, I need your biting skills to divide a very long rope into shorter, more manageable pieces. At the moment it's just too long to do anything with. Does that sound reasonable to you?" he added, looking a little anxious. Klaus suspected Jacques had gone into great detail last night about all the work they'd been forced to do. "I don't want to put too much pressure on you…"

"It sounds fine," Klaus assured him. "Better than fine. It sounds perfect."

Sunny bared her teeth. "Tendla," she said, which meant something like _I'm always glad to have a chance to use my talents._

Uncle Monty smiled, apparently getting the gist of this. "Excellent," he said, clapping his hands together. "In that case, after breakfast I'll find you some disguises – wide-brimmed hats should do for now, no one has reason to suspect you're here yet – and then I can show you round the Reptile Room. We'll get started right away."

"The sooner the better." Klaus tried a smile. It came surprisingly easily. Having something useful to do, finally, was a big relief, and while making detailed notes about Peruvian wildlife might seem like a chore to Uncle Monty, to Klaus it sounded like the most fun he'd had in months. Sunny appeared to feel the same about her job. She was certainly biting into her toast with a lot more enthusiasm.

_We're not helpless any more_, Klaus realised. Sunny saw his smile and looked surprised at first, then grinned back.

_And we're not going to be helpless again._

_

* * *

Crr… crr…_

The grinding metal was the only noise in the room. Violet was barely even breathing. _One more pin…_She forced herself to pause, inhale, exhale, hold her hand still, not let it shake. There'd been another bowl of oatmeal when she woke up, but one bowl a day wouldn't be enough and she thought she could feel her arms weakening.

_Is that all he's planning to feed me, or was I being punished yesterday and that's why I didn't get any more? Should I steal something from the kitchen? What if…?_ She shook her head. _Focus! The door first. Everything else can wait._

The wire found the last pin. Slowly Violet pushed, slowly the mechanism twisted and ground. _Crr… crr…_

_Click._

Violet fell back, panting, staring at the lock. There. The door was opened. She'd done it. She could go.

She gripped the handle and stood up, damp palm sliding on the metal. The handle turned (_distant, mechanical hands_) the door swung open, thin beams of dull light sliding in from the corridor outside…

_He's out there._

Violet slammed the door and leaned against it trembling, cold sweat itching under her bandage. _What am I doing? Don't be stupid…_

_No, he's _out_ there. Waiting for me. I can't leave, he'll find me, he'll catch me and I'll be in so much trouble…_

"He's not home," she told herself, swallowing dry-throated. "He goes out during the days. He won't be here."

_He was yesterday. How do I know? How do I know he isn't waiting_ right now…?

Violet slapped herself across the face. Not hard, but enough to reawaken yesterday's bruise, set it burning across her cheek. "I _don't_ know," she hissed, jaw clenched against the pain. "Maybe he _is_ out there, and maybe he _will_ catch me and maybe I'll be dead within the week no matter _what_ I do now, but I did not go to all this trouble to just _give up!_"

She flung the door open with all the strength in her arm and stood there, blinking in the light.

Nothing happened. No one came running. The ceiling didn't fall in.

"Right," Violet muttered. She smoothed a wrinkle out of her skirt. "I'll try his bedroom first, I guess…"


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

Violet crept along the corridor, back pressed against the wall, barely lifting her feet. _Move one leg. Pause. Put your weight on that foot slowly, then move the other leg._ Even such gentle steps made the floorboards creak sometimes, and then she froze, heart racing in her throat, waiting to be discovered. No one ever came.

"No one's here," she whispered to herself, lips barely moving, as she stepped, paused, slid along. "No one's here, no one's here…"

She was almost there. Olaf's room was just at the end of this corridor. The walls trembled as she inched closer, and she felt her fingernails scrape at the plaster – _it's all right! It's all right, nothing's going to happen to you, he's not here, nobody's here._ She mouthed the words, letting her breathing slow and her pulse stop echoing in her head. _Nobody's here_. She almost believed herself.

Her fingers brushed the edge of the doorframe, and she slumped against the wall, letting out a long, soft gasp. _Made it_. Now all she had to do was find… well, something. She didn't know what yet, but she'd made it this far. There was bound to be some sort of evidence. And if there wasn't, well, she'd just have to look somewhere else, and eventually…

"Forget it!"

_No!_

_No… oh no, you can't still… you can't possibly…_

Violet's body froze, electric current shooting through her limbs. She couldn't breathe, and with the fraction of her mind that could still think rationally she realised that was a blessing, because if she breathed she'd scream, and if she screamed she'd go mad and she'd never be able to stop until his fingers were round her throat and what had she _done_, what had she been _thinking_? Olaf was _there_, right _there_, only separated from her by a few inches of wood and crumbling plaster and she couldn't _move_ and how could she have been so stupid _again_ and…

And who was he talking to?

It was a woman. Violet didn't recognise her voice, but something about it grated on her ears, irritating even in the grip of her panic. "What's wrong with it? I told you, facial scarves are _in_ right now."

"Esmé, I look like a bank robber."

"That's the idea. It's the romance of the criminal underworld…"

"We're _part_ of the criminal underworld, we can't afford to go around _looking_ like it."

Violet slowly let herself breathe out. _I'm safe for the moment_, she reminded herself. _Think – he's in the room, I'm outside. He'll never know I was here, all I have to do is go back._

Yes, that was logical. All she had to do was make herself _move_.

"Esmé, I'm not going to wear the damn thing! Understand?"

"So." Esmé's voice turned sulky, and even more grating. "You'd rather walk around with that hideous bite on your face than trust your own girlfriend's fashion sense. I see."

_Girlfriend?_ Violet blinked. _Olaf has a _girlfriend? It was almost funny. _Girlfriend_ seemed like such a pleasant, ordinary word, it didn't belong in the same sentence with someone so terrible.

She slid one leg along the wall.

Olaf sighed. "For the… your fashion sense is great, Esmé. That's not what…"

"Don't try to back down. I heard what you said. If you don't want my help, that's fine." There was a clattering sound, which Violet thought might be Esmé throwing things into a bag. "Maybe you don't need my help at all. Who needs a girlfriend when you already have a _wife_?"

"You can talk!" A loud bang. "Whose sham marriage came first? And mine's a _lot_ more of a sham than yours is. You got the eligible bachelor with the penthouse apartment, and I got bitten on the goddamned _nose_."

The clattering stopped. "But Violet's so _pretty_, isn't she?"

"_Damn it_, Esmé! All right, she's pretty, but she's _theirs_! Anyway…" Olaf's voice dropped. "She's fourteen, that's practically still a kid."

_Practically?_ Violet actually did laugh, she couldn't stop herself, a short, bitter "Hah!" that was swallowed before it could really be heard. _So I'm only "practically a kid"? I suppose that makes you feel better?_

Another step. Her head felt much clearer now. Probably after so many shocks, the mind got used to functioning while scared.

(_Klaus would know._)

It sounded as though they'd be arguing for a while. There was plenty of time to get back.

(_what did he mean, "theirs"?_)

"Look, Esmé…" Olaf was using his most charming voice, or what he probably thought was charming. Violet cringed. "I'm not wearing it all day, but I'll wear it when we go out this evening. If we go to Café Salmonella everyone'll be wearing them, right?"

"That's right, because people with _style_ will be there."

"Yeah, well, people with _style_ probably won't be at Mulctuary."

There was a pause, then Esmé laughed, piercingly. "Good point, darling. I can't see Arthur Poe appreciating true fashion."

"Exactly." Olaf sounded relieved. "So I don't have to wear it?"

"Not at the bank, no."

"And I _promise_ I'll wear it this evening," Olaf said, in a tone of sincerity which Violet thought was blatantly fake. Although she also suspected he'd end up wearing the scarf. "Of course, if we're going there you'll have to pay," he added, quickly.

"Olaf!"

"Poe's still making me fill out forms, it's not _my_ fault!"

"Ugh," Esmé groaned. "That man's so incompetent. People who are entitled to vast sums of money shouldn't have to wait for them."

"Yeah. At least we won't have that problem with the Quagmire fortune."

Violet paused. The name _Quagmire_ sounded vaguely familiar, but she couldn't place it. But if Olaf was planning another scheme… she might have the evidence she needed against him, without having to search at all. If she could give Justice Strauss the details of his next plan, he'd be caught in the act.

She pressed herself against the wall, listening hard. _Is this what he does? Pretends to be related to dead people to get their money?_

"Oh, yes, the dear Quagmires." Esmé laughed again. "I'd say I'll miss our important financial breakfast meetings, but really, all the cantaloupe melons in the world couldn't persuade me to deal with that woman again."

"I thought the in breakfast was cinnamon bagels."

"That was last week, Olaf. I wish you'd try to remember these things. I try to keep up with _your_ interests, you know. I let you keep all that gasoline in the third smallest bedroom, and the bundles of wood that _they_ chopped for you, and you wouldn't _believe_ what I have to go through to keep Jerome from wandering in there…"

_Gasoline_. Violet felt a chill. Not like the ice-cold panic that she'd known before. This was more like a faint draught, a prickle across her skin. _Gasoline… and bundles of wood…_ The connection was obvious, she knew it already, she was certain, but she couldn't name it. Didn't want it to come.

"…not that he'd _argue_, of course not, have I ever mentioned exactly how _annoying_ that is?"

"A few times," Olaf said, and then hurriedly added, "but I won't have to keep that stuff with you much longer, okay? Once Poe stops messing me around I can disappear for a month on 'honeymoon', and then once we torch the Quagmire mansion I can move the rest of it back to the tower room and…"

He kept on talking, but Violet couldn't hear him. There was no trembling or racing heart this time. She almost felt calm. Perfectly calm, and perfectly lucid, and perfectly silent, as the last, worst piece of the mystery finally came clear.

_Torch._

_Gasoline._

_Bundles of wood._

_Quagmire fortune. Baudelaire fortune._

_I'll make what happened to the rest of your family look merciful…_

_Not my siblings, the rest of my _family. All_ my family…_

_Oh no… Dad, Mom, he… he… he didn't…_

_He did._

He _did it!_ He killed you too! 

She was on the floor again. On the carpet. Worn grey carpet full of holes. How had she got down there? Had she fallen? She couldn't remember but the carpet was wet, her hands were wet, water was falling from her eyes and she thought she needed to stand up, she needed to go somewhere, but she couldn't remember why (_my parents – it was him, it was always him, all of it was him_) and she couldn't lift herself from the carpet, couldn't leave, couldn't think, no hair in her eyes, she had her ribbon but she couldn't _think_…

A shadow fell across her.

Violet looked up.

Two metal hooks, gleaming in the darkness.

She didn't make a sound.


End file.
